


Thermal Shock

by yumenokage



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura Shiro and Keith are vampires too, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Guilt Issues Galore, Hunter!Hunk, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Near-Future Setting, Past Character Death, References to Christianity, Vampire!Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumenokage/pseuds/yumenokage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanceome Week Day 1: Isolation/Warmth</p><p>He could hardly believe it, didn’t want to believe it; Hunk, the kind, caring best friend he’d always believed so timid he was prone to being startled by his own shadow, was the most feared vampire hunter in the greater Los Angeles district. The man who was single-handedly responsible for one of the strongest combat specialists in the entire Altean faction to currently be lying on the ground breathing weakly in a rapidly accumulating pool of his own blood. </p><p>And yet his warmth remained unchanged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thermal Shock

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the vampire lore in Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines, most specifically the clans. 
> 
> I ended up getting a little TOO into the AU aspect and the prompt kind of took second place. SORRY.

Lance was certain his heart must have stopped the moment he laid eyes on that face.

Which was a stupid notion in retrospect, considering he was pretty sure his heart didn’t even actually _function_ like a human’s anymore.  It no longer served the purpose of pumping hot blood through his veins, at least. 

Yet that was the best way to describe the fierce jolt that shot through his chest when he caught sight of the familiar broad features, the rich chocolate brown eyes visible intermittently through the medium-length jet black bangs shifting back and forth over the hunter’s face as he moved.  A face so familiar to Lance that he knew he’d always be able call it to mind in vivid detail no matter how much time had passed.

He could hardly believe it, didn’t want to believe it; Hunk, the kind, caring best friend he’d always believed to be so timid he was prone to being startled by his own shadow, was the most feared vampire hunter in the greater Los Angeles district. The man who was single-handedly responsible for one of the strongest combat specialists in the entire Altean faction, a fucking _Gangrel_ to boot, to currently be lying on the ground breathing weakly in a rapidly accumulating pool of his own blood.

This had to be some kind of vampiric hallucination; Hunk couldn’t be here; he was off finishing up that engineering degree, leading a normal life, blissfully unaware of any of this crazy shit occurring beneath the top layer of society.  He was supposed to be _happy,_ somewhere. Somewhere that wasn’t here.

He still wasn’t sure what happened as he stared down absentmindedly at the mess of blood covering the ancient wooden floorboards in front of him.

There were three large crossbow bolts – coated in holy water, he realized dimly – lodged in Keith’s chest. Lance stood rooted to the spot, cringing when Keith gritted his teeth and fought down a scream while Shiro extracted them as carefully as he could, then desperately went about trying to staunch the bleeding. Shiro’s first aid measures were only temporary, but would hold at least long enough to get him out of there and allow his vampiric healing, slowed by the holy water, to take over.  His heart hadn’t been hit, so as much as Keith’s wounds undoubtedly hurt like a bitch, he’d survive.

Keith’s pained breaths reverberated against the dilapidated walls of the church as Lance attempted to recall just how they’d ended up in what appeared to be the storage room of an old church ruin. 

Everything had gone to shit so fast, it was all a blur. Everything except that face.

They’d been tailed, he recalled that much. All three had noticed and exchanged silent nod, Keith and Lance wordlessly following Shiro’s lead as he took a series of rapid twists and turns in an attempt to lose their pursuer in the darkness of night. Except the predator had somehow managed to maintain its distance to them at all times, stalking them like a reaper through the labyrinth of winding alleyways. 

And Keith, damned hothead that he was, had quickly lost his patience, unsheathing those freaky-ass claws of his and turning to maul the poor bastard, whoever it was.

And then Lance had seen _him_.

He thinks he might have snapped out his state of shock long enough to yell something in desperation at Keith’s back just before agonized screams and shouts ripped through the icy air.  He recalls Shiro, who must have managed to snatch up Keith’s body and heave him over his shoulder at some point in the confusion, shouting at him before finally grabbing his hand and pulling him into a run.  They’d taken shelter in the ruined church and-

Lance was broken out of his reverie when Shiro suddenly spoke up, his words cutting through the storeroom like a blade.

“That was Liona’gula.” He murmured. The weak tone of his voice suggested he was feeling at least partly responsible for Keith’s present state. Of _course_ he was.

Realizing that Lance wasn’t going to respond, he pressed onward. “Why did you yell at Keith to stop?” Shiro didn’t sound accusatory, just confused.

Was _that_ what he’d yelled in his trance, in some kind of instinctual reaction? He couldn’t remember.  Not that it made any difference, judging Keith’s present condition. He hadn’t heeded Lance anyway. He never did.

“That was my best friend.” He answered slowly.

Shiro’s eyebrows shot up, and he opened his mouth to say something else -- but didn’t get the chance.

The sound of the main door entering the church sanctuary creaking open echoed throat the halls, telling them all they needed to know; Their brief hiding spot had been found.

But there was a reason Shiro had led them to this storeroom rather than stay in the main church sanctuary. Shiro swiftly got to his feet, and without wasting a moment, once again heaved the now unconscious Keith easily up over his shoulder.  Then silently, lest their pursuer in the church were to discover them, he motioned to the window, indicating their best means of escape.

As it was, they were in no shape to take on an Order member with Keith down for the count.  And the close quarters of the church’s narrow corridors meant Lance’s rife wouldn’t do much good.  Besides, God only knew how many Hunters were heading over as backup at that very moment.

Lance simply shook his head, wordlessly conveying his intent to stay. Shiro’s eyes narrowed in confusion and tilted his head in silent question. His confusion was understandable, of course.  If an experienced Gangrel like Keith --a clan renowned for their physical prowess -- hadn’t been able to take out that vampire hunter, a fledgling Toreador like Lance didn’t stand a chance in hell. But Lance had just confessed that the hunter was someone he knew in life.  Shiro was perceptive enough to realize that Lance had a plan.

Lance met Shiro’s eyes and smiled as reassuringly as he could, willing him to trust him.  The taller man hesitated, his lips drawn into a disapproving frown; He was probably debating whether or not to throw Lance over his other shoulder and drag him back to Allura’s mansion whether he liked it or not.

 But in the end, Shiro simply gave a resolute nod and mouthed ‘be careful’.  Lance returned the gesture gratefully, appreciating Shiro’s faith in him, watching as he stepped up onto the crumbling stone window ledge, Keith still over his shoulder, and dropped out into the black blanket of night.

As the footsteps disappeared into the darkness, Lance focused his attention on the faint shuffling of the only other being in the church faintly audible through the wall. 

He took a breath, steeling himself, running his hand over the grip of his rifle to ensure it was still firmly attached to the holster on his back – just in case – and slipped silently into the connecting corridor.

It was only a few paces until he arrived at the door and peered inside the sanctuary. Vegetation was growing up through the cracked, ancient wood. Even flowers, starkly out of place in the present tense atmosphere of the church.  

And then Lance slowly stepped into the room, intentionally making his footfalls heavy on the wooden floorboards. 

The larger man standing before the small, ruined alter reacted immediately, twisting around and heaving his enormous mechanical crossbow up aimed at the darkness, ready to fire.

Every nerve in Lance's body was on edge as he emerged from the shadows ever so slowly, step by step, so as to not provoke the other man into firing that massive crossbow. Willing himself not to flee.

He knew Hunk well enough to know he wouldn’t go trigger happy if he sensed no hostility, but then again…this wasn’t the Hunk he knew. This was a man who was whispered about like a death sentence to any unlucky enough to have become his target. The name infamous in vampire society, ‘Liona’gula’. _The golden lion_.

He watched the hunter’s eyes widen as Lance became increasingly visible, the moonlight filtering through the crumbling church roof overhead gradually illuminating his features.

And then he came to a stop, meeting the hunter’s eyes cautiously.

There was a tense moment before the man he’d once called his best friend slowly reached back and slid the crossbow into its holster, and Lance let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

  _So he’s still the same in that regard._

The other man appeared stunned, looking at Lance in disbelief with his mouth agape.

It was Lance who broke the silence.

“Liona’gula, _seriously_? Man, that’s so corny.” He chuckled as if the two of them were just buddies, as if nothing had happened and they _weren’t_ meeting in the roles of mortal enemies on a battlefield.  It was out of place amidst the tense atmosphere, but Lance honestly didn’t know how else he should behave. 

Hunk blinked for a few moments as if he couldn’t believe his ears before responding dimly. “I-…I’m not the one who started that.  The other hunters just kind of started calling me that and…it caught on as my code name…”  the hunter’s eyes darted around then, almost as if he were embarrassed.

The air between them was pungent with unspoken questions and confusion, but neither one of them seemed ready to broach the subject and destroy this reunion that, despite the circumstances, was nothing short of a goddamned miracle to them both. 

A shaky intake of breath and his body was moving.  He didn’t know which one of them moved first, but suddenly their arms were hastily wrapping around each other, clinging las if they were each worried the other might disappear if they didn’t hold on.

“I thought you were _dead_ , Lance.” Hunk’s voice was quivering, and Lance could feel his body trembling in their embrace. “But here you are, jesus.” A weak laugh as his arms squeezed even tighter around Lance’s back. “ _God_ you’re a sight for sore eyes.” 

Technically he _was_ dead. But if Hunk wasn’t going to bring that particular niggling detail up yet, then he certainly wasn’t going to correct him.

Lance felt like crying.  _Damn, had he missed him_. It had only been a little over three months since he’d been reborn as a vampire, but it felt like an eternity.

Lance pressed his face against Hunk’s shoulder, enjoying the other man’s warmth. Had he always been _this_ warm? No, he realized; Lance had simply lost his own human heat and felt Hunk’s, burning bright as always, magnified tenfold against his cold, dead flesh.

But then he felt a pang of guilt when his traitorous eyes were instinctively drawn to the tantalizing line of the other man’s neck, lured by the promise of what flowed just below the delicate skin. Hated himself for being unable to describe the way Hunk smelled in that moment as anything but _delectable_.

He was a both relieved and disappointed when Hunk pulled back slightly, holding him out at arm’s length.

“God, you seem the same, still have that _damned_ goofy grin… but your skin…”  Hunk lifted his hand up to Lance’s face, gently brushing his cheek with his fingertips. Was it his imagination, or did Hunk recoil slightly at the temperature of his flesh?

 “Your skin…“ He continued, “it’s…not as bright anymore.”

Lance gave a pout and wrinkled his nose in exaggerated disgust. “ _Gee_ , thanks.”

“I-I mean, of course it’s still pretty! I just mean…“ Hunk trailed off, casting his eyes downward as he chewed on his lip.

Lance relaxed his lips into a soft smile as put his hands on either side of Hunk’s head – pretending not to notice as, once again, the other man jerked at the contact with his bare skin- and simply shook his head, reassuring the distressed man.  It didn’t need to be said. _It doesn’t look quite as human anymore._

He patted Hunk’s head lightly, enjoying the way the thick strands of his hair felt against his fingertips. “I just haven’t eaten in a while. My complexion is just as jaw-droppingly gorgeous as always after a meal, promise!  My body even gets some warmth to it!”  He winked in an attempt to joke, but was taken aback by the hard look in Hunk’s eyes as he frowned in response. 

“You drink human blood now.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.

 _Ah_. _Shit._  

No, references to his new sanguivorous palate _wouldn’t_ go over too well, would they? He mentally hit himself for slipping up and broaching the proverbial elephant in the room.

It would have been nice to pretend for just a little while longer.

But, Lance supposed with a deep sigh, it was only a matter of time before other hunters came to check on Hunk. Time to get to the matter at hand.

He pulled away from the other man’s arms completely, taking a few steps backward, the two of them facing off now, watching each others eyes.  The crumbling walls of the church did little to shield them from the chill autumn wind as it blew through the space between them, rustling the other man’s long trench coat, his ebony locks glistening under the moonlight.

“Man, what the hell are you doing in the Order?” His words echoed loudly through the eerily silent, dilapidated sanctuary, sounding more accusatory than he had intended. But he couldn’t help it; He felt… hurt?

He didn’t know this man. This wasn’t the timid, nervous boy he’d grown up with who somehow always seemed to be looking out for Lance despite being one year younger. This wasn’t the brainy mechanical engineering major who always found the time to stop by and help him with his math homework when he asked.  This wasn’t the man who, when Lance bent over the toilet heaving the cheap booze out of his guts the morning after he’d turned twenty-one less than a year ago, hadn’t said a single reproachful word, instead simply kneeling beside him with concern in his eyes and massaging his back.

And it certainly wasn’t the man who, mere days before the fateful night that lowered the curtain on Lance’s human existence, had spontaneously invited Lance to go for a drive in the old 2025 convertible he’d fixed up himself.

Lance had raised an eyebrow dubiously at the time, but went along with it anyway.  They drove for what felt like ages before finally ending up out at the Santa Monica Pier -- just in time to park the car and watch the golden sun set over the ocean.

A sight that Lance would never see again.

He remembered how whilst bathed in sinking rays of gentle sunlight and breathing in the salty ocean air, the man beside him had stayed strangely silent, fidgeting before reaching over to the passenger seat and placing a hand on Lance’s cheek.

The gentle sound of rolling waves had resounded through the air. Hunk’s hand had felt hot against his skin even then, so much hotter than even the rays of dying sunlight before them.

The leather seat of the convertible had creaked as the other man leaned forward, and it had occurred to Lance for one crazy second that he was about to be kissed. Lance had tilted his head, slowly moving his face closer to meet Hunk halfway -- until that _damned necklace_ had jingled as it slipped forward on Hunk’s neck.

The other man had suddenly gotten a panicked look on his face then, and Lance knew he was thinking of the first excuse he could when he pretended to be point out what might have been a turtle in the distance behind Lance’s back. The laugh that followed was a little too forced and boisterous. He quickly leaned back into his own seat, pulling his hand away, leaving Lance confused and slightly frustrated. _It wasn’t fair, he couldn’t compete with a dead girl._

That man and this man weren’t the same person. And it hurt.

How long had Hunk been with the Order? Surely no small amount of time for him to reach this level of skill. How long had Lance been oblivious?  A million questions swirled through Lance’s mind, none of which he had an answer to.

For a long while, only the sound of the wind answered him. But then Hunk turned toward him, meeting Lance’s gaze with steeled resolve in his eyes, and opened his mouth.

“I’ve been a member of the Order of Balmera since Shay’s death.  So, almost four years now.” He looked away, his next words a subdued murmur. “It was the only way I could cope.”

A heavy creak as Hunk’s military-grade combat boots began pacing slowly over the broken floorboards.

“That night you disappeared… I knew immediately it was the work of vampires as soon as I heard the news. A person just up and vanishing from their home, yet there are signs of struggle…” He stopped pacing and shook his head. “Too many unanswered questions.  Too much like Shay’s murder.” 

Lance raised an eyebrow at the word ‘murder’. The reports all those years ago had deemed Shay’s death a suicide.

Hunk took a deep breath as though steadying himself, then continued.

“I was a _mess_ , Lance. It was like…first they took Shay, then they took _you_ from me too.” Hunk reached up to finger the golden crucifix around his neck; the very one Lance had had to force himself to not snatch off Hunk’s neck and toss into the Pacific ocean that evening at Santa Monica Pier. One that had belonged to Hunk's now deceased high school girlfriend, a soft-spoken, seemingly meek, but wise and strong hearted girl _._

 “I’ve been fighting them for years, and then this happened and hit me like a ton of bricks.  I had two people whose lives I was fighting to honor. And I needed to get rid of vampires to prevent even more victims.”

Lance felt like there was lead in his stomach.  Years, he’d said. _Years_.  Hunk had been hunting vampires for _four years_. And Lance never had a clue. He wasn’t sure if it was the idea that Hunk was killing vampires that bothered him, or the fact that his friend had kept this side of his life secret from him for all those years.

Hunk broke into a self-derisive laugh.  “But fate must be laughing at me. Here you are, a fucking vampire yourself. A Toreador, by the look of it.”  He shook his head.  “Fitting. Too fitting, it’s almost funny. Your shitty pickup lines must actually work on a lot of people now, huh?”

Toreadors –the clan of the vampire who had sired Lance and passed her clan’s characteristic traits on to him—were known best for three things: their need to be in the spotlight, their weakness for pretty faces, and charming their prey in order to feed.

Lance tried to laugh it off. “Well, you know me. I’ve always been a charmer! Now I just have these crazy ass vampire magic powers to back it up, too.”

Making a joke of things was always Lance’s coping mechanism, wasn’t it? Hunk knew that better than anyone. 

“Lance.”  His voice sounded on the verge of breaking, and Lance could swear he saw tears glistening in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how conflicted I feel right now?”

Lance knitted his eyebrows and a ran a hand though his own hair, considering.

“Would it…make you feel better to kill me?” He asked slowly. 

Lance didn’t know if Hunk was out for vengeance for Shay, or for the human Lance used to be; but if he allowed himself to be killed him right now, he didn’t think Hunk would ever recover.

Heavy footsteps thundered over the floor and suddenly he found his shoulders in a grip so tight it was painful, his field of vision being jostled back and forth.

“Of course not! No, goddammit, that’s not what I-“ Tears streamed down Hunk’s cheeks in earnest now as he wailed to Lance’s face. 

“I want to get rid of the murderous vampires killing innocent people, but I don’t want to kill _you_. I don’t know how to feel, Lance!” His voice petered down to a pathetic squeak at the last part.

 _Ah, I see. He’s still the Hunk I know._ The realization sent a pleasant surge of warmth through Lance.

He reached out and pulled Hunk’s head down against his own chest, combing fingers through his dark hair.

Hunk didn’t flinch at his touch this time.

“Listen, dude... just hear me out, it’s not like all vampires believe in killing humans. I mean, it’s true that right now there’s no substitute for food, and we have to drink from humans to survive, but…you don’t have to _kill_ a human by drinking their blood.”

He paused as he felt Hunk nod in his arms, then continued.

 “I know there’s loads of awful shit going on with vampires in Los Angeles.  I don’t really understand these crazy vampire politics much.  In fact, you probably know more than me. But from what I understand, it’s a result of rule under the Galra faction.  It’s…kind of like a ruling body for vampires.  The rebel Altean faction is small now, but they’re trying to make things right, you know?”

Hunk, having stopped crying, sighed and pushed his face deeper into Lance’s chest.  It made his heart ache.  He wasn’t sure what conviction Hunk held with the Order’s teachings, but he knew Hunk would never turn his nose up at the prospect of a peaceful resolution.

Lance steeled himself and offered a suggestion. “I really think you should meet with Allura. I think…if you see her view, you’ll realize that our goals are actually really similar.  We’re both fighting against the bad guys. We don’t…we don't have to be enemies, you know?” His words sounded pathetically optimistic even to his own ears.

“You believe the words of vampires?” Hunk asked, the words coming out muffled by Lance’s shirt.

Lance gave a small smile, looking down at the face buried in his chest.

“In general? Hell no!  But I trust Allura and Shiro, and…even Keith, I guess.” He grumbled out the last part.

Hunk lifted up his head at that.  “Keith is that Gangrel who tried to rush me, right? Now that I think back on it, that high-pitched scream I heard calling that name was definitely you. Man, I thought I was hearing things.”

Lance frowned in irritation. Was Hunk misinterpreting his supposed ‘high-pitched screaming’ as concern for Keith?

“I was _yelling_ _threateningly_ for him to stop because I recognized _you_. …I think I was afraid he was going to kill you.” Lance swallowed and added begrudgingly, “I mean, I’ve seen that guy take heads off clean in one swipe. He’s a beast.” 

That was an unsettling possibility to consider, and he was thankful from his core that the situation had passed without anyone dying. 

Shaking his head to clear his mind of such gloomy thoughts, he broke into a grin.

“But dude, it looks like I didn’t need to worry, huh? You see him coming and suddenly whip out that giant crossbow and handle yourself like a complete badass! I don’t even need to ask; I know you must have made that thing yourself.”

Hunk perked up at that, grinned proudly and lifted the crossbow in question off the holster latch on his back. “Gas operated, auto fires from a rotating drum.”

“Mmm….” Lance started, leaning forward for a closer look. “A bit retro, but definitely your style.” Something in the back of Lance’s mind chastised him for being impressed by the weapon that just earlier had nearly killed Keith and could easily kill _him_ at this very moment.

“Oh, like you know!” Hunk laughed, holstering the weapon and smacking him on the back with an open palm. “I see you have a scoped hunting rifle strapped on you there, but come on.  There’s no artistry to that, man.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “My _performance_ is the artistry, thank you very much.  You haven’t seen me use this thing.”

The two of them laughed, and _god_ , it was like they were friends again.

But then the smile melted from Hunk’s face and he resumed a serious countenance. “Look, I…I don’t like vampires. I don’t trust them. I’ve seen them do too much.” He met his eyes.  “But you’re not a vampire. You’re _you_. And I trust you.”

Hunk stood straight then, apparently shifting into professional mode as a representative of the Order.  _A side of Hunk Lance wasn’t used to seeing._ “I’m willing to take your word that your Altean faction isn’t our enemy.  And while I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best to encourage the Order to keep their efforts focused on other groups.”

Lance smiled a genuine smile.  “That’s more than enough. Thanks buddy.”

Hunk beamed.…Before coughing awkwardly.

“So um, sorry about the whole, you know, hitting your friend with three holy water bolts.“ He sheepishly scratched the back of his head.  “I might have been a bit startled and kind of overdone it? It’s never a good idea to go up against a Gangrel solo, ya know, and it’s just better not to take chances in a situation like that.”

Lance cringed, hissing out, “He’s _not_ my friend and you don’t need to apologize to me. You did the right thing. It’s his own fault, anyway.”

Tapping his foot, he continued onward, vaguely aware that he was beginning to ramble. “And not that I really care or anything, but he’ll survive. You didn’t hit his heart.  Besides, Shiro and Allura are there to mother hen the shit out of him and make sure he stays down until his recovery kicks in. I mean, honestly, the lecture he’s going to get from Shiro for being reckless is more likely to kill him than his injuries.”

Hunk’s eyes softened as he tilted his head and smiled. “I’m glad you have people you can count on in your new life.”

Despite his words, his voice sounded so _sad_.

Lances eyes went wide. “Hey look, I don’t-“

At that moment, the communicator attached on the side of Hunk’s belt buzzed to life, sending crackling static through the air as a male voice rang out. “Liona’gula?! Do you read me?!  We’re approaching your position!”

Hunk looked up from the communicator as the signal sputtered out and the church went silent once more.

“Well…sounds like it’s time for you to get out of here.” Lance thought he could hear disappointment in his tone.

He simply nodded as Hunk strode towards him, both of them maintaining eye contact, until Hunk stopped in front of him. Large hands reached up to rest on his shoulders, rich brown eyes boring so intently into Lance’s own deep blue that it was almost uncomfortable. He felt himself inhale sharply.

And all at once it was like he was there again at the pier in that 2025 convertible with so many unspoken feelings pressing against his chest, fighting, demanding to be set free. But no; that was another time, another life.  And that moment, that window of opportunity that had presented itself the two of them to become something more, had long since passed.

Lance reached his arms around Hunk and pulled their bodies together, reassured when he felt Hunk’s hands slide around his back to return the embrace.  And Lance squeezed as tightly as he could, determined to memorize the feel of Hunk’s body heat in case this ended up being the last chance he ever got.

He was faintly surprised by the pressure of Hunk squeezing him back just as tightly; Was that the thrum of his own heart racing he was feeling? No, no. His heart didn’t work like that anymore.  He had to be imagining it.

With their bodies pressed this tightly together it was easy to feel the contrast in their body’s natural temperatures even through their coats. And after all, his body wasn’t warm and pleasant to the touch anymore.  If anything, Lance sapping body heat from Hunk on a cold night like this had to be at least a little unpleasant.

Yet Hunk didn’t move, his arms remaining fastened unwavering around Lance’s body. And so Lance was the first one to reluctantly pull away, but not before tilted his lips over mere centimeters from Hunk’s left ear.

“See you around, man.” He whispered, carelessly allowing just the slightest hint of his Toreador nature take over and causing the words to come out honeyed and sultry than he’d intended.

He turned and dashed out the front doors of the church without waiting for a response, allowing himself to enjoy the mental image of Hunk’s face flushed after being caught off guard, a hand roughly scrubbing at the ticklish feeling in his ear caused by Lance’s breath. 

The slightly damp, frigid wind beyond the towering doors washed over him mercilessly as he left behind his childhood friend in the ruined church and made his way in the direction of the Altean faction’s headquarters.  And as his footfalls echoed over the dark, cold stone streets, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping that somehow, someplace, they’d see each other again.

The feeling of Hunk’s comforting warmth remained even as he arrived at his destination.

 


End file.
